


Wake up

by mscyanide



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3858793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscyanide/pseuds/mscyanide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Klaus was desiccated for an extended period and what occurs when he is awoken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

He had not committed the act that led to his incarceration, but that didn't mean he wasn't deserving of such a fate. Terrible things, offences aplenty, things beyond most humans' comprehension…he was guilty of these, too many to number. Judged so by those that knew him best and so even when it became apparent that the he was innocent of the crime for which he was sentenced he was not released.

Had they been unable to triumph without him, they would surely have been swift to liberate him from purgatory, but they had managed. It was not easy, it was costly, yet they had defeated the enemy banding together to forge a better tomorrow.

A tomorrow that he was not to be a part of.

His Confessor had kept silent, but once the battle was over the absolution she might have offered was not truly required. They each of them were aware of his innocence – of that one crime. They each of them were aware of his guilt – of so much more. And so, by silent consent, they each of them resolved to leave him imprisoned. Not for forever mind you, just long enough to insure that his release would not jeopardize that superior future they had bled for.

And so, for the second time in his long existence, he was locked within the prison of this body. This time though they left him there. And so he remained, waiting for the day when one of their number decided that enough time had passed, enough progress made. Enough time for him to learn his lesson, enough time for him to see past his own hurt feelings to acknowledge what was plain to each of them. Peace in New Orleans could not be gained if Niklaus Mikaelson still walked its streets; he was too much of a threat, too temperamental, too controlling. He was just too...much.

Since his return to New Orleans, since he became aware of the existence of his daughter, he had not been himself. Perpetually teetering on the edge of unstable; volatile emotions swirling just beneath the surface. There were days even he did not recognize himself. And so perhaps he should have seen it coming, seen that those he loved would eventually come to the logical conclusion that he was the only real stumbling block to a united New Orleans.

Without him, or rather by sacrificing him, they proved their commitment to those that had doubted. Those that once thought peace was but a dream - that Originals, vampires, werewolves, witches, and humans could never co-exist - saw their act of betrayal as an olive branch. They were not necessarily convinced it was achievable, but perhaps it was not nearly as impossible as they once thought. It did what nothing else could have done; it brought everyone to the table. It brought those that were considered untrustworthy, just enough goodwill to be believed – to reach agreement.

Still, it was not meant to be forever, nor even so long to be considered but the blink of an eye for such an immortal. Enough though he would have nought to do but measure times passing with betrayal burning in his veins.

Whilst they built that better world, he measured the level of betrayal of those who professed to love him, counted each transgression, and calculated the depth their knives were buried in his back. But mostly he planned. Planned how best to cause a rain storm that would turn everything they had built to rust.

When they deigned to wake him they would not find him grateful, they would not find the weak shadow self they trapped. Restored by their betrayal he would no longer be the emotional mess of a man who cried so freely. They would find him older, colder, and most importantly they would find that in the years they left him desiccated not just his body had turned to stone.

One year passed, five, ten, fifteen and then one more…the world kept turning.

Then copper on his tongue, life travelling down his throat spreading from stomach to veins. The blood flowed freely, though not from a vein, he recognized the plastic tainted aftertaste of a blood bag. Even so, the blood was human and the offerings plenty – at least six if he was not mistaken.

He did not open his eyes, did not reach out with any of his senses to identify the blood bearer; showed no sign of life other than the turning of his skin from the grey of death.

It did not matter who been sent to wake the monster after all, at least not to him.

That was until a new offering was made, not human…vampire, and one he had tasted before.

His eyes found hers, deep blue pools encasing an equal measure of fear and concern battling for dominance in their depths. She was on edge as though the sword of Damocles hung over her head. It was clear to him then thatthey had not sent her to free him.

She had come much sooner than anticipated. By him, and certainly by _them_.

They were in for a surprise. Of the most unpleasant variety.

But first…

"Hello, love."

 **_"Wake Up"_ ** **_  
**ARCADE FIRE** _ **

_Somethin' filled up_   
_my heart with nothin'._  
_Someone told me not to cry._

 _But now that I'm older,_   
_my heart's colder,_  
_and I can see that it's a lie._

 _Children, wake up._   
_Hold your mistake up_  
_before they turn the summer into dust._

 _If the children don't grow up,_   
_our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up._  
_We're just a million little gods causin' rain storms,_  
_turnin' every good thing to rust._

_I guess we'll just have to adjust._

_With my lightnin' bolts a glowin',_   
_I can see where I am goin' to be_  
_when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand._

 _With my lightnin' bolts a glowin',_   
_I can see where I am goin'._  
_With my lightnin' bolts a glowin',_  
_I can see where I am go - goin'!_

_You better look out below!_


	2. Catching up

The sea wall was both impressive and a stark reminder of how much time had passed. Not merely because its construction had to have taken some time, but because it showed signs of age. It had clearly been there for years, years he was not there to witness.

"Turns out global warming was a real thing," she said with a light tone. Her smile was bright but there was a dullness to her eyes. "We shouldn't stay in the open too long," she implored as her eyes scanned the area as though she feared someone would attack them any moment. He wasn't used to this Caroline – she seemed perpetually on edge, a veritable bundle of nerves, her body practically turning in on its self.

He was sorely tempted to drag her to the middle of the French Quarter, loudly announce his presence, and then have her watch as he tore each and every creature that dared approach him limb from limb – not simply to alleviate any fears she might have for her safety but because he would truly enjoy it. Klaus could already taste their blood, feel the warm stickiness of it on his fingers, he so wanted to wreak havoc – indulge in his baser instincts. However, he didn't want his enemies – his siblings more particularly – to know that he was back just yet.

First order of business was to catch up on all that had passed and as he rather suspected his companion was not in the loop he needed to acquire a source. He tugged Caroline to his side and flashed them to a part of town time had had little impact on, sure there were differences but they were subtle. He knocked on the door, ever hopeful that the person he was seeking was still in residence and very much pleased when an older, but seemingly none the wiser, blonde opened it.

"Camille," he smiled widely as her eyes widened in shock. He pushed her backwards so that he could enter and she being either too shocked to react or too stupid to realise the danger moved back without protest. He was slightly disappointed that the woman was still in residence, but he wasn't surprised. New Orleans was, and had always been, ingrained into Camille. A part of her makeup and though he had no doubt she had succumbed to the allure of the darkness within her she'd no doubt have kept any such rampages confined to NOLA's boundaries; as she herself always would be.

Klaus was disappointed not to have been there to witness the darkness that had always lurked within her taking hold - to watch the violent destruction of all those pretentious imaginings of superior principles. He could practically see the history of his absent years in her eyes, the blood of her many victims pulsing in the dark veins that formed under her eyes, the darkness tainting her very being highlighted by the white of her protruding fangs. She was so far removed from that human striving to outrun her own demons by taking up with the worst devil she could find. And though she was clearly back on the wagon, for lack of a better term, he knew without a doubt that her fall from grace had been spectacular.

How long, he wondered, did it take before what she feared was madness had consumed her? How long before she indulged in the violent urges that had claimed her even in her human form? How long before the Ripper took over? He doubted it was of much duration – how he would have enjoyed watching, as he had with all those that preceded her. All those others that thought themselves special in his eyes, and were for that moment in time, right up until the last of that humanity they clung to so desperately finally left them. Then, after they had overindulged themselves and their debasement was more ordinary than exceptional - when they had lost all that they were – then, he too would leave them. Leave them wallowing whilst he continued on, his own destructive desires sated for a time. Until the need built again and the next diversion took his fancy, another self-deluding soul who thought to redeem themselves by taming the big bad. The next not so innocent  _innocent_  trying to hold back the night by humanising the monster. That long line of foolish individuals believing that they were the one – that he was in love with them rather than the heady power of being the centre of someone else's world what they freely offered - that they were anything other than an interlude. So very few of them had survived him, Mary had lasted a good while until Kol was required to end her, Aurora the next longest hold out. And now it seemed Camille might give them a run for their money.

Camille, who had advised him during one of her many self-aggrandizing diagnostic sharing sessions that he had an inferiority complex likely a borderline personality disorder, and then fallen anyway. All her  _insights_  into his thousand year old tortured soul and yet she was still convinced that he was in love with her. Convinced that she could cure him of his destructive tendencies…well, until she decided they were all better off with him entombed of course. He supposed her PHD wasn't a total waste of money then.

Klaus was aware of the precise moment she regained the use of her facilities, the very millisecond her brain overcame her shock and she realised just how much danger she was in. And in that moment in which her eyes widened that little bit more he wrapped his hand around her throat and had her pressed against the wall of the entrance way, her feet dangling in the air she struggled to get into her lungs.

"Did you miss me, sweetheart?" he hissed staring into her blackened eyes.

"Klaus," she choked out his name.

"In the flesh," he advised with a smirk. The air shifted behind him, Caroline's familiar scent reassuring him that there were no enemies excepting the one in front of him.

"Now, you will not run. You will not seek any assistance. You will do everything I ask of you without question," he compelled her lessening his grip on her throat just enough for her to dutifully repeat his instructions before he dropped her to her feet. He moved to the hall table where he found a handy letter opener which he handed to his new helper.

"Stab your leg," he instructed.

Camille did so without any hesitation.

"Hand me the knife," he ordered, and again she did so without hesitating. He brought the knife to his mouth licking her blood from the blade. Satisfied that there was not a touch of vervain in her blood and that she seemed to be under his compulsion he made himself comfortable in an arm chair in the living room before he had Camille fill him in on all he had missed after she got him and Caroline a drink.

They started with Hope, who was apparently thriving and didn't appear overly concerned at her father's absence. Hardly surprising as she'd been just three years old when they left him to rot and she had apparently spent the majority of her upbringing with Hayley's pack spending only every second weekend and full moon interludes with his siblings. It was unlikely either group had bothered to sing his praises. Once she reached her teenage years she began to spend time with Davina and the witches, absorbing their knowledge like a sponge. Camille believed Hope was mostly well adjusted though spoiled, prone to the usual tempestuous nature of untriggered werewolves, and entirely too powerful for anyone's comfort.

In the last five years Hope's relationship with her mother had become strained, to the point that Hope preferred the company of the over indulgent Rebekah, who was apparently returned to her body shortly after he was buried.

Throughout the discussion Klaus noted that Caroline stared off into space, not once taking a drink nor deviating from her neutral expression. She looked at Camille only when the woman mentioned Rebekah.

His sister had left New Orleans three years after she was returned to her body and no one knew where she had been or what she had done before she returned four years previously. Hope had taken to her Aunt immediately, Camille believing it partly due to the bond formed when Rebekah had custody when Hope was a baby and the time they reaffirmed the bond prior to Rebekah's departure from NOLA. But mostly due to Rebekah's unhealthy indulgence in any and all of Hope's whims – something Camille very much disagreed with. 

Klaus could have done without the judgmental asides.

In any case, Rebekah's return to New Orleans had occurred shortly following Hope's relationship with Hayley going drastically downhill. Rebekah did not move back in with the rest of family, preferring her own residence – Camille not certain why exactly. Hope had been living with her the last two years and though his daughter attended Elijah's mandatory family dinner every Sunday without fail and was unfailingly polite by all accounts, it was clear to Camille that Hope was not on the best of terms with any member of her family, Rebekah excluded.

Camille had a lot of theories as to why this was and how it might be remedied, but he wasn't overly interested in hearing them and Caroline seemed even less interested if such a thing was possible.

With the exception of their current Hope issues, it turned out that the little band of betrayers did quite well for themselves whilst he lay desiccated. The Original/vampire/werewolf/witch/human coalition was still going strong. They had formed a committee shortly after his incarceration to encourage "open" communication and fostered a sense of "community". The human's, the weakest of the races, had been given an equal position – the Originals acting more as facilitators than members had no decision making powers unless there was tie in the voting.

The current coalition board members were Cary for the werewolves, Marcel for the vampires, Vincent for the witches and some human Klaus had never heard of and wasn't overly concerned to make the acquaintance of. Elijah was, of course the Original in residence and had been since the committee's conception. Freya, Finn (somehow also returned to his original body), Kol (another miracle), and Rebekah none too interested in being diplomatic.

Whilst Hayley couldn't represent the werewolves, being a Hybrid and with entirely too many Original ties, she was Queen of the werewolves, sitting pretty on the throne he had bullied for her. She was apparently a benevolent dictator and provided the werewolf race followed the rules of the city, and bowed down to her when the occasion called for it, they were given free reign and did as they pleased.

The vampires under Marcel operated much as they had prior to Klaus' return to NOLA, excepting of course that they were no longer allowed the pleasure of bleeding human's dry. The coalition having instituted a catch and release policy some ten years before Klaus' reawakening.

Humans did what they usually did, lived their short lives somewhere between oblivious and miserable, but they did so under the projection of the coalition. Something Camille seemed particularly pleased about.

And the witches, well it seemed the coalition had done the most for their kind. With the exception of expression and certain voodoo practices involving the sacrifice of humans they were free to practice as they pleased and were mostly self-governing.

All in all a happy little supernatural haven where humans were as safe as the race on the bottom of the totem pole could be. If only he didn't have that borderline personality disorder he'd allow them to continue on enjoying the world they built without him, but sadly he felt rather inclined to rip their idealistic world apart. Not his fault mind you, after all he was a victim of circumstance and hardly responsible for any atrocious acts he committed trying to come to terms with his unfortunate childhood and feelings of abandonment – just ask Camille.

Or not…

"You will tell no-one that I have returned; you will do nothing that could give away or interfere with my revenge. You will simply watch," he compelled and listened as she repeated each command. He smiled, almost sweetly at her and caressed her face. "You will live to see everything you helped build destroyed, watching silently from the side lines…just as before love."

"Please Klaus, don't do this. You're better than this," she uttered as tears flowed from her eyes. Her vampire features now suppressed.

"I'm really not," he advised, and with a smirk he grabbed Caroline and left Camille, his Confessor, to wallow in her silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From wiki readings I'm aware Cary might be dead - if that's confirmed I'll switch him out for someone else. It's not really important who takes that role.

**Author's Note:**

> First up, I haven't watched the latest seasons of either TO or TVD but I have read some articles/reviews in relation to them.
> 
> Now, for the last couple months whilst procrastinating over the next chapters of my stories, I turned my mind to what would motivate me to watch the series. For TO one idea has kept rolling around my head which is now practically canon after the last episode so this was born.
> 
> I should point out that, aside from the writer's inability to adhere to their own mythology, my number one problem with TO is that it is basically centred around a baby. In my opinion babies and sci-fi/fantasy don't mix well, especially when they are used as a major plot device. When I was considering how best to solve this I determined there was really only two solutions, either kill Hope or age her. I chose option two, and would have had him desiccated for fifty years but it's easier to write something a few years in the future than half a century on.


End file.
